


White Lines (don’t don’t do it)

by ohfreckle



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Fake Marriage, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2018-07-11 16:28:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7060423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohfreckle/pseuds/ohfreckle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki needs money, a lot of it and quickly. Thor Odinson may be just the man to help him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you think that this is completely and utterly self-indulgent: you're right. 
> 
> The rating will go up in later chapters, just in case the current rating startled you.

One day Loki is going to move out of here and then his life is going to be better.

One day he’s going to wake up to peace and silence and not the infernal screams of the twins from across the hallway and their mother’s harried attempts to quiet them. Maybe there will be birds singing outside and a hint of lush foliage peeking through the blinds instead of the dull yellow glow from the streetlights below.

Maybe there will even be hot water.

Today is not that day. Tomorrow and the day after probably neither and Loki really can’t afford to lose the job that pays for this shithole.

He stands in his tiny shower, shivering under the freezing water trickling from the creaking pipes, and tries not to feel sorry for himself. He’s only allowed to do that on Monday, Wednesday and Sunday, and today is Tuesday.

At least Loki doesn’t have to worry about his wardrobe. Black slacks, black polo, and he’s good to go. He still checks himself carefully in the mirror; just because he’s wearing a uniform doesn’t mean he can’t try to look his best.

His hair is getting long, already brushing against his collar, but it’s either getting a haircut or setting the money aside for the easel he’s been coveting for months. It’s fine, Loki thinks, he has at least four more weeks until his manager will call him on it.

Loki hates the morning shift with the passion of a fiery sun. He’s probably not the only one and maybe that’s why everyone on the subway is always extra rude on the early trains, but manspreading and seathogging is just a foretaste of what will wait for him at work.

Customers at the coffee shop are worst before eight o’clock: still half-asleep, under-caffeinated and just plain insufferable. Leah keeps telling him this all-encompassing dislike for people in general is a problem he needs to work on.

Leah doesn’t know shit.

But she’s also a good friend and hands him a warm croissant as soon as he enters the staff room. She’s in charge of the cakes and pastries: not only does she get to snack to her heart’s content (something Loki wouldn’t mind, he fucking loves cake), lucky her, she also doesn’t have to deal with customers.

"Nku," Loki says, trying to chew, speak and tie his apron at the same time. It’s easier after he swallows. "You know the manager will have your head if he finds out you’re feeding me."

"Pfff, one croissant won’t ruin the shop. Besides, even you can’t stuff your greedy face with as many pastries as fuckface out there drops on a daily basis."

"What?" Loki casts a quick look into the shop and yes, there he is, Kevin, more commonly know as fuckface. Everybody hates him, but it’s always Loki who gets the brunt of Kevin’s vitriol. The guy’s a poster boy for everything that’s wrong with alphas, and Loki doesn’t deal well with idiots.

"Yeah, Becky had to trade shifts, something with her grandmother, and he offered," Leah explains. "I wonder what he does with all that money, it’s like he’s always here."

"I hope he saves it up so he can quit, the sooner the better." Loki adjusts his apron and gives a little wave on his way into the shop. "See you later."

Seventeen coffees, three good-mornings and zero dollars in tips don’t do much for Loki’s mood, but after so many months behind the counter he’s learned to distance himself from the way people are treating him and hands out beverages and pastries without giving it much thought. Hell, it’s not rocket science: brew coffee, steam milk, add syrup, don’t give a fuck. It sucks, but it’s easy.

"One IV drip, on the go, please."

Hearing the same lame joke again and again will try even the most patient of saints. Loki is self-aware enough to admit that patience isn’t exactly his forte and he’s a galaxy apart from being a saint, but at least the guy said please and even has the decency to look a little sheepish when his joke falls flat. He’s earned a little slack, so Loki dials down his glare from annoyed to just mildly irritated.

"One Venti Caffé Americano coming right up." He even manages to fake a fraction of the cheer he’s supposed to radiate at all times like it’s going out of style.

Waiting for the huge cup to fill gives Loki enough time to muster the guy from behind the espresso machine. Watching people is one of the few perks his job offers, and this guy is definitely worth watching. He’s a work of art, if Loki would have to describe him, with his neatly trimmed beard and his artfully tousled hair, his dark grey suit hugging him like a glove.

Loki doesn’t know much about suits. He owns only one and that’s the one he was able to afford. It’s tucked into the corner of his closet in its protective plastic bag, for so long now that he barely remembers what it looks like. With just enough money to feed himself and pay for his art supplies, going out for fancy dinners or to see a show is simply never an option.

But even Loki can tell that this suit is beautifully tailored to fit his owner, the slim cut of the pants bordering on obscene. Loki files away the little details, tries to remember the intricate pattern of the waistcoat so he can sketch it out later.

"Didn’t think that’s your type," Kevin drawls next to him, steaming up a cup of milk. "I always thought guys like you go for the big and strong type, somebody who shows you who’s boss." He reaches into the pocket of his apron and fishes out a flyer, sliding it towards Loki. "Here, somebody forgot this yesterday. I saved it for you."

The flyer reads _Daddysboy.com_ in such garish letters Loki couldn’t ignore it if he tried. The asshole didn’t even try to lower his voice. In fact, he’s looking smug, completely ignoring the customers' awkward looks.

Loki, cheeks and neck burning, is tempted, for one mad, glorious moment, to throw the drink he’s holding and just see the asshole _burn_.

A brown stain is spreading over the crotch of Kevin’s jeans. Loki hears his frenzied shouts as half a liter of hot expresso soaks through the cloth and into his skin, realizing only then that he’s actually done it.

And fuck, it feels good.

:::

"Hey, wait! You, Mr. _Barista_ , wait!"

Loki turns, mostly because nobody ever calls him that, just in time to see the guy in the suit rush towards him. Sans coffee. Loki allows himself a brief flash of guilt for that. The guy definitely needed it.

"Fandral. Fandral Flynn," the guy—no, Fandral introduces himself, offering a firm handshake. "I’m sorry for what just happened."

"What for?" Loki frowns at him. He isn’t even out of breath, although he must have run after Loki for quite some time. "My coworker’s outdated hatred for betas isn’t your fault."

"You’re right. But I know how awful it feels to be subjected to it. So, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry it happened to you. And that you lost your job."

"Thanks," Loki says, too stunned for more. The whole conversation feels terribly awkward, but then, kindness from random strangers isn’t something he’s used to.

"Look, I don’t mean to be rude—"

"Then don’t," Loki snaps. Usually when people start like that something really rude follows, and the last thing he needs right now is a lecture, or worse, condescension from a stranger, in the middle of the street.

"I don’t mean to be rude," Fandral repeats, undeterred. He has the air of a man who isn’t ruffled easily. "But given your current situation I take it you could use some money. A lot of money, maybe."

"That’s none of your fucking business," Loki bites out. He just may have lost a shitty job, but that doesn't mean he has no dignity.

"I realize that," Fandral says. "Just hear me out, and if you’re not interested I’ll leave you be." He takes out his wallet and hands Loki a business card. "A friend of mine is looking for someone to fill an… ah, you could say a very special position, and you fit the description perfectly. It’s not for me to talk about the details, but there’s a lot of money in it for you."

A lot of money sounds exactly like what Loki needs and real quick at that. His rent is due in a couple of days, and he isn’t exactly in a position to negotiate with his landlord. More likely, the old creep will be happy to toss him out on his ass without a second thought.

The card is a deep crimson, only the words _Thor Odinson_ etched in gold into the heavy cardstock and, a little smaller, a phone number on the back. The artist in Loki admires the bold and simple style that radiates raw power despite the unusual color choice for a man. This Mr. Odinson must be quite something.

What exactly Loki will maybe find out soon enough. None of the scenarios he can think of sound very appealing, but beggars can’t be choosers and all that. Come to think of it, whatever this so-called position calls for, it’s probably nothing Loki hasn’t done already.

"I’ll think—"

Loki snaps his mouth shut. He’s alone, standing in the middle of the sidewalk, so lost in his head that he didn’t even notice that Fandral left. Around him people are going on about their lives, rushing to whatever destination awaits them.

Nothing is waiting for Loki and he’s so fucking tired of it.

He tells himself it’s just excitement that makes his hands shake as he dials the number on the card.

"Thor Odinson’s office, how can I help you?"

:::

"You did what?"

"I called the fucking number," Loki huffs, talking to his sketchbook instead of Leah. He adds another layer of shading to his sketch, darkening the stain on Kevin’s crotch so it’s the very first thing a viewer might notice. And then he adds a third layer, just because it’s really damn satisfying.

"You called the number."

"Yes, I did. I made an appointment to meet this guy and that’s it."

"You made an appointment."

"Yes, Leah, I made an appointment," Loki parrots. Sometimes she’s so damn annoying he can’t remember why he likes her in the first place.

"What for?"

"To meet him, that's what appointments are for. I don’t know. For a lot of money, I hope."

Loki catches the chunk of pastry Leah is flinging at him. It still leaves crumbs all over the bed they’re sitting on and Loki’s sketchbook. He shakes it to flick the crumbs off and feels a fierce stab of satisfaction when a greasy spot remains of Kevin’s face. So very fitting.

"So what, you’ll just waltz in and demand they fling riches at you? I mean I wouldn’t put it past you, but that would be a bit much, even for you." Leah points a finger at him. It shouldn’t feel so threatening from such a tiny person. "You do realize that they’ll probably ask to you commit heinous crimes. Don’t come to me to bust you out if you land your ass in jail."

She’d do it anyways and they both know it.

"Jesus, Leah, I talked to his personal assistant, so it seems to be a big company rather than the CIA. I doubt they’ll need a barista for corporate espionage." Loki does a dramatic head toss and lifts his chin, drawing a hand along the line of his clavicle. "Maybe they’ll just need somebody with fantastic looks. My gorgeous figure is just about the only thing dear Fandral had to go by."

"Which still could get you into jail," Leah mutters to herself.

Loki ignores it, as always. Nothing he can say will change his past or make Leah less paranoid about it.

"Anyways," Leah says, squirming up so she can lean back against the headrest, flapping her hand with the half-eaten croissant at Loki. Loki snatches it and groans when he bites into the buttery softness. He’d die for these croissants.

"You were saying? By the way, it’ll be your ass in jail if you keep stealing these."

"They’re just leftovers, nobody will miss them."

"It’s 6 p.m.. No leftovers until the shop closes."

"Well, they’re leftovers from my shift." Leah flings a heavy paper bag at him that smells like heaven and will save him quite a bit of money for groceries. "What I wanted to say was that you tell this Mr. Thorson that I will have his nuts if something happens to you."

"Odinson," Loki corrects. "Thor Odinson."

"Thorson, Odinson, who cares. Tell me, what is he like?"

" I haven’t met him yet, remember? There’s next to nothing about him on Google. He’s rich, likes to party but is very discreet about it. No photos except the one on the company website. He looks decent for a guy in his thirties, I guess, but you can never tell with these official photos."

Leah takes the sketchbook from him, smiling at the admittedly quite exaggerated stain. "Everybody at work thinks you’re a star for what you did, but they still won’t speak up and that asshole got away again."

"Isn’t that how it always goes? All this talk about how you just have to be brave this one time and luck will find you. It's just utter bullshit."

"Maybe it’s not." Leah traces the bold lines of graphite. "You’re so crazy talented, maybe it’s time to think about art school again."

"Do you know somebody who can work miracles?" Loki snaps. They’ve been over this a million times and she still keeps bringing it up. "The only thing that’s changed is that my asshole father is gone. Instead I’m stuck with a mountain of debt I’ll never be able to pay back."

"But there’s stipends! With your talent—"

"Yeah, because they’re giving stipends so freely to students with a police record. Leave it, Leah, please, it’s not going to happen."

Loki sighs. He’s suddenly so fucking tired, the day finally catching up with him. All he wants to do is sleep and not think and worry for a few hours.

:::

Loki arrives at his destination in Midtown with minutes to spare, slightly out of breath from his brisk walk. He wishes he’d taken a taxi, but a ride through the entire city would have left him flat broke and probably taken twice as long as a ride on the subway.

Odinson Holdings resides in an impressive high-rise building. Loki doesn’t recognize any of the long row of names listed on a panel at the entrance. They all the sound the same to him. Holding this, LLC that, just a boring list of generic names.

Inside everything seems to be made of steel and glass. Even the floor of the elevator is a large glass panel, which makes Loki snap up his neck so fast he almost pulls a muscle. He doesn't deal all that well with heights.

His way leads him past not one but two receptionists and even then there’s another lady waiting for him rather than the mysterious Mr. Odinson.

Her name plate says Sif, followed by a string of consonants Loki doesn’t bother trying to pronounce, Personal Assistant of Thor Odinson.

She’s gorgeous, dark hair and flawless skin, but she looks utterly murderous, there’s no other way to put it. Not at Loki, even he can’t provoke such a reaction within half a minute. Either it’s the person at the other end of the phone that’s provoking her wrath or, more likely, the constant buzz that’s coming from the other people in the room. Loki can’t shake the impression that this isn’t how this office usually looks.

Apparently Loki isn’t the only one who has an appointment with Mr. Odinson today. He counts seven men who couldn’t be more different. There’s a little bit of everything, the whole range from corporate employee in an ill-fitting suit to what seems to be a twink who came straight from a club. The only visible thing they have in common are their age and dark hair.

The good thing is, they’re all obviously not here because of their excellent references.

The bad thing is, they’re all obviously not here because of their excellent references. Loki hates to admit that maybe Leah wasn’t so wrong.

"Loki Laufeyson," he introduces himself when Sif finishes her call. "We talked yesterday. I’m here to see Mr. Odinson."

She doesn’t answer. Instead she musters him, her gaze traveling the lines of his body for so long that Loki has to consciously stop himself from fidgeting. As slim as the chances are that this is an actual job interview, he’d like to give it a go and not be dismissed for acting like a fool before it even starts.

"Oh thank God," Sif whispers then, heart-felt and fervent. "You’re _perfect_!"

"Gentlemen," she announces, the steel in her voice enough to make everyone snap to attention. "I’m sorry, but I must inform you that the position is already filled. Thank you for your time and of course we will refund any expenses you’ve had."

Loki’s mind is still reeling when she stands to see the other candidates out. His suspicions that he’s here for his looks just got confirmed, but he isn’t quite sure whether he should be glad or offended.

"Go in," Sif orders, tilting her head towards a door Loki hasn’t noticed before.

He takes a deep breath and goes before he might change his mind.

:::

Loki remembers thinking that Thor Odinson really must be something. He’s been never so wrong in his whole life.

Thor Odinson is _everything_.

Everything that pushes Loki’s buttons. Every single one of them.

The first thing Loki notices is his scent. As a beta he usually doesn’t respond to an alpha’s scent. It’s faint, barely there, but for him to smell it at all it must be incredibly strong, completely irresistible for any omega.

The photo on the website doesn’t do him justice, not by a long shot. It doesn’t show the piercing blue of his eyes, the thick golden hair pulled back into a bun, or the width of his shoulders, thick muscles straining against the white shirt he's wearing, the rolled up sleeves a stark contrast against his tanned forearms.

Loki knows he's staring, rude and completely unprofessional, but how can he not? Most likely the guy is used to it, judging by the wry smile that curls his lips when Loki finally manages to pull himself together.

"Your name?" Mr. Odinsons asks, clearly not for the first time. His voice is a deep rumble that might actually be his best feature.

"Loki Laufeyson. Mr. Flynn gave me your card."

"Fandral really is a good friend. Only he would pick you out of eight million people and then send you to me instead of keeping you." Thor points at the chair in front of his desk. "But I'm being rude, please have a seat."

Loki sits down, grateful that he no longer has to hold himself upright. This is getting weirder by the minute and his legs are feeling like rubber. Why in hell would Fandral want to keep him? For what?

"I guess you've figured out by now that this isn't an ordinary job interview, so I'll come straight to the point. I'm offering you 300,000 dollars in exchange for a year of your time."

Loki's feels his cheeks go hot. That amount of money would save every single one of his problems. He wants to say yes, right now, this very second, yes yes yes, but there's a nagging voice at the back of his head that sounds suspiciously like Leah, telling him that a fortune like this won't come cheap.

"A year of my time? I mean, what do I have to do?"

Thor leans back into the plush leather of his chair, fixing Loki with a piercing look.

"Marry me."


	2. Chapter 2

Decadent orgies that will leave him unable to walk for a week.

Office work that will bore him to tears. Rich people tend to foist off the tedious stuff and Loki knows from hands-on experience that they prefer a little eye candy as the hired help.

Hell, corporate espionage or robbing a bank.

Loki had been prepared for all of that and more.

The last thing he needs is a husband.

Even if that husband is hot as hell and filthy rich. Some things in life simply aren’t meant to be for people like him.

"I—what?"

"Marry me," Thor repeats, slow and patient, as if he really means it.

"Don’t get me wrong," Loki says, still flustered. "Have you looked in a mirror? You of all people shouldn’t have any problems to find a bride. Or groom. Umm…" So much for any plans to act suave and sophisticated; bumbling along not even ten minutes in. Loki is blushing so hard he can feel the heat radiating off his face. This is ridiculous. 

"Perfect." There’s that word again, as if it explains everything and Loki is just too dense grasp what’s going on. 

"Sorry if I’m not swooning yet, but I need a bit more information for that." 

"To put it simply: I need a wife or a husband, but I have no desire whatsoever to get married." Thor shrugs and leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers under his chin. "It’s a necessity in my life right now and I prefer to buy the things I need. Everyone knows their job, everyone gets what they want. Nice and easy, without any of the drama that comes with personal attachment."

That makes sense. From a rational point of view it makes perfect sense, but wow, it’s also fucking cold. Loki has never given any thought to marriage. He’s only twenty-one, and most days he’s struggling with the idea that he’s an adult. But he’s sure that if he ever wanted to get married, this isn’t how he wants it to go. 

"Care to explain why you need a spouse if you don’t want one? I mean, this is the twenty-first century…" Loki trails off, unsure how to proceed without coming off as rude. 

"The Why doesn’t concern you," Thor says.

"It doesn’t concern me? You’re asking for a whole year of my life. I think that makes it very much my concern." Thor’s cool blue stare is unnerving, but Loki is used to bigger men trying to intimidate him.

He watches Thor’s mouth tighten into a flat line. It’s obvious that he isn’t used to objections and a tense silence stretches out between the two of them. 

"Very well," Thor says finally, just as Loki is about to say something, _anything_ to alleviate the awkwardness that’s beginning to make his palms sweat. "You’ve got balls, I like that in a man. Let me rephrase, then: the details don’t concern you, but I’ll give you the short version." 

His eyes settle on Loki, thoughtful. It feels like a test, as if he is assessing Loki’s trustability. There’s no outward sign of the outcome, but Loki thinks he can see Thor’s eyes soften a bit, so whatever he sees must meet his approval. Loki releases a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding.

"Odinson Holdings’ corporate objective is to buy multi-corporate enterprises, break them up and sell the individual companies with profit. I’m in the early stages of one of the biggest deals this industry has ever seen, but I need more investors for that." 

Thor frowns and fiddles with a pen. It’s a perfectly ordinary pen, but it almost disappears in Thor’s large hand. Loki sucks in a sharp breath at the spike of heat that flares up in his belly, telling his traitorous body that now is really not the time.

"Unfortunately one investor that’s completely indispensable is my father, and he’s only agreeing to be part of this deal if I finally bend to his wishes and settle down." Thor stands and walks to the large window that takes up most of the side wall, casting Loki a shrewd look in passing. "I think you know a thing or two about difficult fathers yourself."

Loki’s neck prickles. He can’t see Thor from where he’s sitting, but he imagines it’s the very spot Thor is staring at. "What would you know about my father?" he asks hotly, abandoning all pretense of politeness and whipping around to face Thor.

"Alcoholic, left the day after your mother’s death when you were only sixteen." Thor settles against the window sill and lifts a brow, daring Loki to tell him otherwise. Loki grinds his teeth so hard Thor can probably hear it, but he stays silent. There’s no need to confirm what they both know to be the truth. "Background check," Thor shrugs. "You didn’t think I’d propose to a stranger without investigating who I’m about to take into my home."

Loki’s rising anger deflates as quickly as it came. After all, he did the same, didn’t he? Even if—given his limited options—the result of his Google search turned out pretty useless. Still, a sour taste lingers at the thought that anyone with enough money can pry into his life so easily. 

"So you know everything about my sad existence," Loki says. He takes a deep breath and pushes back the bitterness that’s threatening to creep up on him. It’s water under the bridge, no need to get emotional over it again. "Why am I still here, then?"

"Fandral said I’d like you. He’s right. It makes living together a lot easier." Thor smiles and it changes his whole face, makes him look younger and, impossibly, even more handsome. 

"But that can’t be the only reason everybody keeps saying that I’m perfect."

"God, no," Thor laughs. "You’re perfect because you’re exactly my type. Nobody will even think to stop and second guess why I fell in love so quickly that I had to marry you on the spot and risk my mother’s wrath for denying her the opportunity to plan our wedding." He winks at Loki. "What can I say, I like my boys pretty."

Loki is so screwed. A gorgeous, filthy rich man wants to marry him and on top of that he thinks Loki is hot. 

The catch in this whole scenario must rival Thor’s shoulders in size. 

"Let’s say I agree to this, what would my duties be?" Loki cringes as soon as the words are tumbling out of his mouth. He’s not a fucking housewife. 

"I obviously expect you to live with me. I can’t have my family become suspicious why my husband is never home when they drop by. You’ll also have to frequently accompany me to social events where I need you to be charming and pretty." Thor lifts a placating hand at the scowl Loki can feel darkening his face. "No offense, but that’s what everyone is expecting from me. I’m not exactly known for my loving and long lasting relationships."

"I can do pretty," Loki says. Pretty is easy. He’s been called pretty so often he’s sick of it. He drums his fingers against his leg. "But I have to ask, where’s the catch?"

"No catch, except that my family can be quite—ah… overbearing." Thor heaves a sigh, but his expression is fond. It can’t be so bad then, right?

"Okay, I’ll do it," Loki blurts out before his brain can catch up with his mouth, but there’s just no use in waffling. What does he have to lose? He has no job and by the end of the week he won’t have a roof over his head, either. He’ll just give this a go and if things get bad he can always bullshit his way out of it. 

Thor’s smile encompasses his entire face. Most likely he’s simply pleased that he got his way and there’s no reason at all that Loki’s heart should pound so hard in his chest. But God, he’s so, so screwed and in way over his head. 

Thor pushes off the wall and comes back around to the desk where he hands Loki a folder and a pen. Loki is about to ask what it is, but he snaps his mouth shut when he realizes Thor has already moved on and is making a call. 

The first page reads _Prenuptial Agreement_. Two words, but they drive the enormity of what he’s agreeing to home in a way Loki hasn’t felt until now. 

He dutifully fills in his details, stopping short for a moment as he checks the box next to _biological class: beta (required)_. It starts to make sense when he thinks about Thor’s reason for this deal. No personal attachment he’d said. Of course he wouldn’t risk a pregnancy, or worse, a soul-bond with an omega. As slim as the chances for such a bond would be, a beta is a much more fitting choice for Thor’s purposes. Loki couldn’t form a bond even if he wanted. 

_Useless_ a voice whispers in Loki’s head, but he ignores it, as always. Right now he’s much more interested in the important parts of the agreement. 

There it is in black and white: a settlement of 300,000 dollars in case of divorce after one year of marriage. Now that he's made his decision, wild horses couldn’t drag Loki away from his prize. All that money is going to be his and then he'll have all those hot showers he's been dreaming of.

Loki’s hand is trembling as he signs his name on the dotted line. 300,000 dollars, and all he has to do is pretend to be in love with a walking wet dream (not exactly a hardship) and sip champagne (not a hardship, either). He feels like pumping his fist and dancing around the room but that’s hardly appropriate, so he settles for distracting himself by listening to Thor’s call.

"Thanks, Sif, and please call the Clerk’s office again and tell him we’ll be on time," Thor says, typing something into what looks like a schedule one-handed. "And call Darcy that we’ll need the ring in size—" he darts a quick glance at Loki’s hands "—size nine."

"The ring?" Loki squeaks as soon as Thor ends the call. " _The_ ring? You already went ahead and bought a ring?"

"Of course," Thor says, matter of fact. "Just so we’re clear: I’m paying you, which makes me your employer. I’m calling the shots, and in this case I know best what others expect from me."

He doesn’t look unkind, not even stern, but there’s enough steel in his voice that it’s easy to picture him as the hard-looking man Loki looked up on the company website. Loki doesn’t feel intimidated, there’s no reason to be, but his instinct tells him that it’s wise to stay on Thor’s good side. 

"Well then, if there’s nothing else, let’s go," Thor says, breaking the silence that ensues when Loki can’t can’t come up with a response that isn’t a form of 'yes, sir'.

"Where are we going?" Loki asks, following Thor out of the office, more than glad to leave this awkward conversation behind. No matter how this whole scheme will play out, at least he’ll always get to tell a story about the weirdest job interview ever. 

:::

 _Fucking Tiffany’s_.

Loki feels faint with relief that he’s wearing his suit, even if it looks like rags next to Thor’s fitted steel-gray two-piece, and there’s that lady with the coiffed, lavender hair who’s giving him looks as if he’s a smelling stain on the tip of her shoe. 

The other people in the room, though, they don’t even notice Loki. The hush-hush atmosphere is punctuated with the occasional whisper of _god, look at him_ and less-than-subtle sniffing. Thor owns the whole room with an effortless presence even most alphas can only dream to possess. 

They’ve opted to stand at one of the long glass displays while they’re waiting for their rings. 

Their rings. 

It feels surreal, distorted like looking into a funhouse mirror and wondering 'is that really me' at the person that’s looking back. Loki feels as if the last few hours happened to someone else, but he refuses to be cowed by his doubts. His mom once told him to always say yes to an opportunity, even if he thinks he can’t do it, and learn how to do it later. He never really understood the meaning of it until now.

He’d half-expected Thor to drive a Lamborghini or something equally garish and had been pleasantly surprised when Thor had led him to a sleek, black Audi. He’d mentioned it to Thor as a joke during the drive, mostly to calm his own nerves, and Thor had laughed, claiming that he’d need a chiropractor to come with a car like that. Loki thinks it’s a damn lie with a body like Thor’s and he can think of a thing or two to test that theory, but it was nice of Thor to humor him. 

Right now Loki isn’t calm at all, not with Thor’s arm slung around his waist, heavy and possessive as if he can’t bear not to be touching Loki. 'It’s just business' Loki tells himself, repeating it over and over in his head. It helps to keep the simmer of excitement in Loki’s stomach at bay. Mostly. 

"Shh, you’re doing fine," Thor says, rubbing his hand over Loki’s hip. Loki knows he means well, but… not helping, not helping at all. 

"Gentlemen, your wedding rings." A woman approaches them, her red painted lips stretched into a genuine smile. "If you allow me to say so, Thor, I didn’t think I’d ever see the day."

"Loki, this is Darcy," Thor introduces them. "I only tolerate her presumptuousness because she’s worked more than one miracle for me and helped me out of some tight spots."

"What he means is that I’m the friend who knows which kind of bling will console his exes for…well, being his exes." She winks at Loki in a mix of friendly and lecherous, a brief moment that shows that under the heavy make-up she isn’t that much older than Loki himself. "But as I can see these days are over," she says, reverting to a businesslike demeanor. 

She hands Thor a black jewelry box. "Double milgrain wedding bands in platinum, 6mm wide. An excellent choice, elegant and masculine."

Thor lets go of Loki and examines the content of the box for a long moment before he finally nods with a smile to let Darcy know that he’s satisfied with what he’s seeing. Well, he must be quite the expert on jewelry, Loki thinks, if Darcy is to be believed. 

It feels awkward, standing next to Thor mute like a fish. Loki is a happy groom now, so some enthusiasm surely can’t hurt. He wishes Thor had given him some basic directions how to handle this situation, but he can hardly ask Thor every time they’re in company how he should behave. 

Fuck this. Thor chose him and just as in every other marriage he’ll have to accept Loki for who he is. There’s only so much acting they’ll be able to get away with before people will see right through the bullshit. 

"Can I see?" Loki asks. He doesn’t have to feign the small tremor in his voice. Fake or not, this is his wedding ring and there’s a good chance it’s the only one he’ll ever have. He has every right to be excited.

"Of course, love," Thor says, angling the box towards Loki with a radiant smile.

Every single drop of blood in Loki’s body rushes to his face in the blink of an eye when he hears the unexpected endearment. Nobody has ever called him that. Out of the people he’s been with the few who bothered always called him baby, some even sweetheart, but none of it had made him feel cherished like a single word from a man he barely knows. 

And Loki thought his life couldn’t become more pathetic.

Loki takes a deep breath, and then another, before he’s able to focus on the rings. "They’re beautiful," he whispers, and they are. Wide silvery rings with two slim, textured bands next to the edges. It almost looks as if they’re etched into the metal. Loki extends a hand to feel—

 _Snap_!

Thor closes the box and almost pinches the tips of Loki’s fingers in the process. Loki pulls his hand back instinctively and cradles it against his chest, feeling naughty like a kid who got caught with his fingers in the cookie jar. Actually, that isn’t so far much from the truth, is it, and it’s a pretty big cookie. 

"Ah, ah, no touching, it’s bad luck," Thor says, mock serious, wagging his finger at Loki.

Loki gapes at him, contemplating whether Thor is serious or not, but who cares. It’s already bubbling out of him, small giggles that turn into an undignified snort and then he’s laughing and laughing and laughing, and he’s knows this is going to be alright because Thor is laughing with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yes, there we have it, there are omegas in this world. I promise more of how the dynamics work as the story progresses, but I don't want to reveal too much this early. Where would be the fun in that?
> 
>  [Their wedding rings](http://www.tiffany.com/jewelry/rings/milgrain-wedding-band-ring-GRP01739?trackpdp=bg&trackgridpos=%2c&fromgrid=1&fromcid=288177&search=0&search_params=p+1-n+10000-c+288177-s+5-r+-t+-ni+1-x+-lr+-hr+-ri+-mi+-pp+0+6&origin=browse&searchkeyword=)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wedding bells are ringing for Loki. 
> 
> Or something like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuses for how long this update is overdue. Let's just say that 2016 was shit and I don't write and edit well when I'm under pressure in real life. Not bad pressure, just a lot on my plate, and things are definitely looking up. I know I always say that, but the next update will be much, much sooner.
> 
> I cannot thank you enough for all the lovely comments, messages and encouragement you've left for this fic. I feel terrible for not replying to most of them, but seriously, it's you guys who keep me writing, and I will do better this year.
> 
> There were a lot of questions about the A/B/O dynamics in this fic. I've put a little twist on how it's usually handled, especially on the social status of omegas (yes, there are omegas in this verse) and betas. It will soon become a little clearer, until then please bear with me.

Getting married is downright terrifying, who would have thought?

Loki tries not to squirm on his chair. He manages, for the most part, but he can’t stop the jitter in his leg or the way his palms get sweaty just seconds after he wiped them discreetly on the side of the upholstery. 

The way Thor is checking his phone every other minute and glowering at everyone isn’t helping, either. If he wants to pass as a happy groom, he’s doing a shit job of it. 

Loki barely recognizes him. Gone is the charming man that had all the ladies at Tiffany’s (and at least one gentleman) wrapped around his finger and lusting after him. He disappeared the second the lady at the office told them that there was a delay with their papers and would they please be so kind and wait for a few minutes.

That was two hours ago. 

Forty minutes in Thor had called Sif and told her to cancel his four o’clock appointment. 

Loki is still trying to wrap his head around the fact that Thor scheduled job interviews for a husband (and god, how sordid does it sound if you put it like that), buying rings and getting _fucking_ married within an afternoon and then planned to carry on with business as usual. Granted, he made it abundantly clear that this marriage is in fact nothing but a business deal for him, but would a little decency hurt? 

It’s Loki’s wedding day, too, even if he never planned on it. A proper meal and a nice bottle of good wine isn’t too much ask for. It sure as hell would make him feel less like a check-mark on Thor’s daily agenda, less cheap. He ignores the little voice that tells him that 300 grand isn’t exactly a bargain and that he literally tripped over his own feet to agree to this deal, signed, sealed and delivered.

Yeah, he agreed, and if he’s completely honest with himself, a deal is exactly what the whole thing is to him, too. A deal that will make his life so much easier, get him out of that shit hole he calls an apartment only so he doesn’t have to let go of the sad shreds of his dignity. It’s his chance for the future, to build the life he’s dreaming of. Discovering that he’s a romantic at heart is just one more crazy thing that has happened to him today and damn, he’s going to embrace it like everything else. So, he may not have the moral high ground on Thor or any reason to feel cheap, but he’s still allowed to feel disappointed.

If he just thinks long enough about it, it might even start making sense. 

Some of Loki’s thoughts must be showing on his face because the young woman sitting across from him smiles at him, tipping her chin up in a gesture of ‘cheer up, you can do this’. Her belly is round and full and she looks happy and radiant in the way only pregnant women can be. It’s impossible not to smile back.

Loki wonders if his mom sat here as well twenty-two years ago, happy and smiling, her hands folding protectively over her belly. Over _Loki_. Or did she feel nervous like him, unsure what the future might bring? 

The ugly screech of Thor’s chair scraping over the worn wood of the floor pulls him back into the now. 

Loki idly watches Thor rise and step up to the front desk. He’s talking to lady behind it, quiet but firm, his mouth stretched into a thin line. Loki catches only snippets of their conversation, ‘paid a lot of money for it’ and ‘disappointing service’, and he can’t help but roll his eyes. Rich people, they always think money can buy everything. 

The lady seems to agree and isn’t fazed by Thor’s large frame looming. She simply lifts her hands and shrugs and turns her attention back to the computer screen in front of her. Thor may be used to absolute obedience, but she clearly didn’t get that memo. Time to teach the big man a lesson about flies and honey.

Loki gets to his feet and joins Thor at the desk. He smiles at the lady—Selma Miller, her nameplate reads—and adds just a tad of shy to it before he wraps his arms around Thor’s neck. To his surprise he’s almost as tall as Thor. It must be all that swaggering, ridiculous confidence that makes the other man seem larger than life. It’s easy to lean in and—God, the smell of him is amazing; expensive, woodsy cologne, and under it something earthy and raw.

“Stop fussing,” Loki whispers, low enough that the other couples in the room can’t hear it. He stops himself from chasing the source of that smell by sheer force of will. The strength of his reaction is embarrassing, but at least he doesn’t have to fake the roughness in his voice when he adds a littler louder “Baby, I don’t think I can wait a second longer.” 

Selma clucks her tongue.

“Look, Selma, can I call you Selma? Loki says, turning towards her. ”I know that’s not exactly how things are going around here, and I can see your desk is more than full and you have a ton of things to do, but could you maybe take a second and call the clerk again? My soon-to-be husband—“He gives her his best smile, the one that gets the biggest tips, and dear god, is he really blushing? ”My soon-to-be husband has already made arrangements with him, I’m sure he’ll see us if you ask him."

Loki can sense the moment she gives in. He’s worked enough shitty jobs to know that a little appreciation and a friendly word is sometimes all that people want.

And the best thing about it? Thor looks thoroughly impressed. 

After that it’s just a matter of minutes before Loki finds himself in a stark office, listening to the dull speech the clerk has probably repeated hundreds of times and then signing even more papers.

The whole procedure takes barely more than 15 minutes and now he’s fucking _married_. His signature on the line says so. _Loki Odinson_.

The clerk’s polite cough pulls him from his daze. “You may kiss now.”

Loki’s already hammering heart trips and for a second he feels faint when Thor pulls him in with a hand on his hip. Loki swears he can feel the heat of Thor’s touch through all the layers of cloth he’s wearing. Thor is smiling at him, those firm lips he’s going to feel any second stretched into a wide, happy smile. By now Loki knows that Thor can flick on the charm like a switch, but here and now it feels real. It won’t hurt anybody if Loki enjoys it. Thor is gorgeous and Loki isn’t dead and god, he can feel Thor’s breath fanning over his cheek and then Thor is kissing him.

Right on the crest of his cheek.

:::

Loki gets his meal, along with an indecently expensive bottle of wine, but it’s not as much fun as he thought. Their awkward attempts at conservation dry up as soon as the appetizers arrive and from there it only gets worse. Too many knives and forks and who the fuck needs three glasses for a single meal.

:::

Loki slides lower into the bathtub with a happy sigh and sticks his big toe into the faucet. Immediately water is spraying everywhere and he can’t help but laugh out loud around his mouthful of bubbles. 

He has his own bathroom. With a huge bathtub, a rain shower and more hot water than he can ever hope to use. He’s sleepy and too hot, and his fingers are already pruney, but he’s not ready to get out of the water.

Loki’s mind is a little foggy. It’s impossible to wrap his brain around everything that’s happened earlier today. After dinner Thor had taken him home, _home_ being a 4-floor brownstone decked out with every luxury Loki could imagine and more. He hasn’t explored much, too eager to wash off the grime of this long and strange day, but his goddamn bed is almost as big as his apartment. Loki doesn’t even dare to imagine how many zeros a house like this might cost.

“Hey,” comes Thor’s voice from the other side of the door, accompanied by a little knock. “I put a pajama on the bed for you. It’s too big, but it’ll do until you can go shopping tomorrow. If you need something, I’ll be in my office, right door on the top floor. Or just call 1 on the house phone.”

Of course Thor Odinson has a house phone. 

“Thank you,” Loki says, oddly touched by the little gesture. There’s no answer but the soft snick of the bedroom door. 

He’s married to a prince. Or god. Or whatever. 

Loki is almost dead on his feet when he finally emerges from his bath, but it’s impossible to miss the screen of his phone on the nightstand, lighting up with what seems to be one of many messages. 

_You alive?_

Damn, he totally forgot Leah. 

Loki crawls into bed before he answers, sprawling out on his back and wriggling until he’s spread all over it like a starfish. The soft sheets feel glorious against his naked skin and so he decides against the pajama. That and the fact that it is still in its little plastic bag. Loki isn’t sure why he feels a little disappointed about that. 

He carefully changes his contact info to _Odinson, Loki_ before he texts Leah back. 

_Not dead. Just married._


	4. Chapter 4

**** Not acceptable!

Loki peers in dismay into another empty cabinet, feeling his good mod slip away with every door he opens. 

He’s married to a millionaire (which still makes his mind reel) and living in a multi-million house (same) with a kitchen twice the size of his apartment, and there is no fucking food. Nothing, nada, not even takeout leftovers or a stale cracker. 

It’s not that all those cabinets are empty. Loki stopped at counting thirteen different brands of coffee beans. That’s fine and dandy, really, Loki is a barista after all, which is why his professional pride is hurt even more when he can’t make the gleaming Pavoni that’s sitting on the counter work. 

No coffee, then. He hops onto the large kitchen island and considers his options. He could go and visit Leah in the shop, but he’ll die of famish before he even makes his way to the train station. He mulls over several scenarios, but even if he spends what little money he has on breakfast in one of the fancy delis he noticed on the ride back here, that won’t feed him later or tomorrow. 

There’s no other way, he’ll have to talk to Thor, about food and about money. The thought alone makes his stomach churn. And isn’t it just his luck that Loki doesn’t have time to dwell on the matter, because there he is. 

“Breakfast is cancelled because _you have no food_ , but if you tell me how to work this machine I’ll make you the best coffee in town.”

Loki absolutely refuses to feel underdressed in his pajamas, even if it’s hard with Thor already dressed in a crisp, navy suit and ready to go.

“My assistant gets breakfast for me, and don’t worry, I already had coffee after my workout,” Thor says. He’s distracted, scrolling through what is without a doubt a packed agenda on his phone. 

Loki doesn’t know why he’s feeling a twinge in his stomach. He’s not even sure what it is, disappointment most likely. After yesterday, his goddamn wedding day for fuck’s sake, he shouldn’t be surprised about Thor’s lack of enthusiasm. 

The silence between them stretches, tense and uncomfortable enough that even Thor seems to catch on that something is amiss. “What?” he huffs, impatient, looking up from his phone.

“Well, I don’t have an assistant who gets me breakfast,” Loki points out the elephant in the room. “If you want a functioning husband, you have to feed me.”

Thor stares at him with those bright blue eyes, long and hard, as if he can see right into Loki if just keeps at it long enough. It must send all his employees scurrying and trip all over their feet, but Loki refuses to squirm like he really wants to.

“I see,” is all what Thor finally says, his face twisting with something that looks almost like embarrassment before it settles into the resigned look of every spouse ever before the dreaded talk about money. 

“Just write a list of whatever you want and Eir will get it,” Thor says. “She’s my housekeeper.” 

Of course Thor has a housekeeper, it shouldn’t come as a surprise.

“So I have to ask for every single thing I want or need and you’ll pay for it?”

“Yes, of course.”

Loki shoots Thor an unimpressed look and keeps silent. What is it with these rich people and their complete lack of understanding of how others feel about money?

“I assume this is going to take longer than expected.” 

Smart guy, at least Thor catches on quickly. Loki watches him tap on his phone, frowning a bit before he nods, apparently satisfied. 

“Okay, I’m free until ten. All yours,” Thor says, spreading his arms to show off what exactly is all Loki’s. 

It’s nice, more than nice. It’s so good that Loki’s heart gives a little stutter at the way Thor’s jacket stretches over his shoulders. He’s totally down to looking at that for the next ninety minutes or so. But talking about money that long, not so much. And he’ll need coffee for that conversation. Lots and lots of coffee. 

“It won’t take that long,” Loki says with more confidence than he’s actually feeling. God, please don’t let it take that long. Just the thought of asking Thor for money makes him feel nauseous. 

“Good. Then we’ll have enough time so I can show you how the coffee maker works. Wouldn’t want you to go through withdrawal, right?”

Thor steps up to the counter, perusing the various tins and packs of coffee before he finally settles on a small container and goes to work. For the next minutes Loki is busy watching Thor’s hands handle the complicated machine with confidence and care. They’re nice hands, big and tanned, with immaculately manicured nails. They would look amazing against Loki’s much paler skin, dark and light, fitting perfectly over the crest of Loki’s hips. 

It’s a good thing Thor is a man of single-minded focus or this could quickly become embarrassing. More likely, he’s used to being stared at and just too kind to let Loki know how very obvious he is.

Enough with pining after his husband already. Loki imagines him in a nail salon, surrounded by a flock of women with painted, claw-like nails who are tending to Thor’s hands and feet while he holds court in a pink bathrobe. 

There, much better. 

“So, Loki starts when they finally sit down with their coffee. Black for Loki (god, he hates that frothy shit and doesn’t miss it for second) and a double espresso with ungodly amounts of sugar for Thor. Another surprise. Loki should probably get used to those. ”I don’t know how to say this delicately, so I’ll get straight to the point. I need my own money."

There, it’s out, and Thor only frowns at him a little. Actually, he’s looking more thoughtful than angry or upset.

“Of course.” 

“So I’ll have to either get a job, which is completely fine by the way. It’s just—I’m pretty sure I’m fired, and I’m not sure how fast I can find a new job and what kind of job would be acceptable for you. I mean barista probably isn’t what your family expects… well, befitting as your husband’s profession.”

Loki rubs a damp palm over his pajama bottoms and pinches his thigh in a late attempt to stop his mouth from running. Where did that fumbling gush of words even come from?

“You have no idea how much I’d love to introduce you to my father as a barista,” Thor says, his mouth stretching into a grimace that vaguely resembles a smile but with way too many teeth. 

So Thor has daddy issues. Loki already figured that out, takes one to know one. Well, at least they have _something_ to bond over.

“But you don’t sound heartbroken that you’ve been fired, so I figure that’s not what you want to do. You mentioned another option?”

In all honesty, Loki hadn’t even thought about it until ten minutes ago. But the words are tumbling out of him before he can even think about them.

“You could give me some of my pay as an advance or a loan. I’m thinking about going to art school after this year and if I don’t have to work I can take preliminary courses and work on portfolio,” Loki rattles out on a rush of breath, repeating _pleasesayyes_ over and over in his head. He’d known this deal is the opportunity of a lifetime, but he’s only realizing now how big it really is, and fuck if he won’t grab it with both hands. 

Loki is so busy with his internal chanting that he completely misses Thor’s reply. A not so gentle kick to his shin brings him back to earth. His resulting glare must be somehow lacking conviction or something else is amusing Thor. 

“What, you thought I’d make a fuss over this?” A wry smile curls Thor’s lips. “I should have talked to you about it yesterday when I said you need to go shopping.” Thor frowns and rubs a hand over his neck, as if he actually has done something to be sorry for. It makes all of Loki’s earlier annoyance fizzle out and how annoying is that. 

“Of course I’ll pay for all expenses that come with our arrangement, like food, transportation and clothes. As for your personal expenses, what do you think about this: three thousand dollars per month as an advance on your payment. And if we really make it and convince my father that I’m serious about this marriage, I’ll turn it into a bonus for you.”

Three thousand dollars is more than Loki has ever earned on any of his jobs. There has to be a catch somewhere, but fuck if Loki cares. No more worrying about rent, no more counting pennies at the grocery store, no more nothing for a whole year. He’ll go to art school and live the life he always wanted. Loki almost wishes his father was still around, just to see the old bastard choke on it. 

 

It’s been only a couple of days but Loki’s old apartment already feels even smaller than he remembers. He stands in the middle of the single room and slowly turns around.

What would Thor think if he knew about this sad, little room? Thor with his outrageously expensive suits and his invisible staff. Loki met Eir yesterday, the housekeeper and cook, but everyone else seems to come and go unnoticed, leaving everything clean and in perfect order. It’s impossible to imagine Thor here, he’d fill the entire room, larger than life, golden and beautiful. Sad, little rooms don’t exist in Thor’s world. 

Loki should be happy to get out of here, wasn’t that what he always wanted? And he is happy, but it wasn’t all bad. If he forgets about the cold water, the barely working heating and his shitty landlord, he actually had some nice moments here. Most of them involved Leah, Netflix and ice cream, but nice nonetheless. 

No reason why he can’t relive those moments whenever he wants. He has a new life now, with better ice cream, a pocket full of money and two credit cards. 

In the end the only things Loki takes are his personal things, few enough to fit in a small box, and his art supplies. On his way out he walks by the landlord’s office. For a second he thinks about going in and paying the rent he owes—and walks by. 

Let the asshole deal with his old clothes and dirty laundry. Loki has an entire empty wardrobe to fill and he’s starting _now_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm still here and if you're still here as well you're a star ♥


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shopping isn't as much fun as Loki thought it would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slinks away*

"So you’re kind of famous now?" Leah asks over her second pizza.

Loki wonders where she packs all those calories and how she even makes room for all of that food, but he’ll gladly buy her two more if she wants them. It still feels weird that he can do this now, take her out to a nice restaurant without having to worry about money. He’s not sure he’s going to get used to it anytime soon.

"Why would I be famous?" Loki asks, dumbfounded.

He’s pretty sure getting married doesn’t make him famous, even if his husband is the kingpin of a massive business organization. And Thor may be hot enough to heat up that tower of glass and steel he’s sitting in all day, but famous?

Sometimes Leah has the strangest ideas.

"Well, you made it into the Times," Leah shrugs, far too articulate for somebody with their mouth stuffed full. "Twice." She swallows with a gulp and rummages in her enormous purse, giving a little victory shout when she finally locates what she’s looking for in that gaping maw.

She holds up two newspaper clippings and throws them at Loki, completely unfazed when they almost land on his last piece of pizza. There, set in serif letters and framed in heavy black, his life new life is staring back at him.

_Mr. Thor Odinson, son of Odin and Frigga Odinson, and Mr. Loki Laufeyson, son of Laufey and Farbauti Laufeyson, were united in marriage on September 12…_

The letters are starting to blur, and for a brief moment, Loki is afraid he’s going to be violently sick.

"Something wrong?" Leah asks, reaching over the table to wrap her hand around his trembling fingers. She sounds like she’s far away, but even through the haze of his sudden panic, Loki can hear that she’s worried.

"I’m married," Loki says, his voice shaky, tightening his fingers around hers. "Leah, I’m married."

"So you are. Is that a bad thing now?"

"No." Loki takes a deep breath, and between that and Leah’s firm grip the ground beneath him is slowing stopping to shift. "No," he repeats, and he means it. "It’s a chance, a good chance. Probably my only one to do what I love." He chews his lip and slips his hand from Leah’s grasp, running it through his hair. "Besides, it not as if we’re really married."

"How so? You live together, that sounds pretty married to me." She leans back in her chair, chewing carefully on her last piece of pizza. "Come on, spill, what’s it like?"

"To be honest, not that much different from living alone. Only now I live in a townhouse with magically self-cleaning rooms and always stocked cupboards." Loki takes a sip of water, buying himself time to contemplate how much he wants to reveal. Not that there is much to reveal, not on a personal level. "Thor is great. Generous. Kind."

"And hot. You mentioned that once or twice."

"Okay, okay, he’s hot." Loki should know better by now; some things are in no way safe to trust her with. Unless he wants to be teased relentlessly for the next five years about it. "But I don’t see him much, so it doesn’t really make a difference. He always seems to be working, even at home he spends most of his time in the office."

"Doesn’t sound very glamorous, but like every housewife’s dream."

"Yeah, well, I’m not a housewife," Lokis deadpans. Motioning for the check he exhales slowly. "If I have to live with somebody for a year, I’d like to get to know them at least a little bit."

"Give it time, Loki. It’s still new, and something big like marriage, even when it’s only fake, requires some time to adjust. And not just for you."

"When did you become so wise?" Loki throws his hands up in defeat and stands, shrugging into his jacket. "Come on, the last thing you need is to be late for work because of me, and I have still some shopping to do."

 :::

Catching up with his best friend had been fun. From then Loki’s day spirals downward at such a staggering speed he’s sure some kind of voodoo must be involved.

He’s tired, and his feet are hurting, but most of all he feels embarrassed and humiliated.

"Can I help you, _sir_?"

"I need a suit, something classy," Loki says, ignoring the salesman's snotty tone, used to it after a long, tedious afternoon.

He didn't go browsing the wooden shelves and racks on his own after he stepped inside under the watchful eyes of a security guard. That didn't go over well in the last three stores, either.

"Yes, I can see that," the salesman says, giving Loki a once over without bothering to hide his displeasure.

Loki is wearing three-hundred dollar jeans and a green cashmere sweater that brings out his eyes; at least that's what the salesgirl had told him when she ran his credit card. And yet this guy is sneering at him as if he can smell that Loki doesn't belong here.

Which he probably can.

Going with the store's high-class ambiance he's dressed in an impeccable charcoal suit and shiny, black shoes, his hair slicked back without a strand out of place. The image of a long row of penguins waddling awkwardly along a street crosses Loki's mind, and it would be funny if he weren't seething with rage.

Tamping it down he points to a mannequin that's decked out in a slim black suit. "How much is that?"

"That? It's expensive," the penguin drawls, his face a bored mask. "Very expensive."

"That's not what I asked. Money is not an issue." Loki has to fight to keep his voice even. "So. Huch much?"

"I don't think we have something that fits you," the penguin says. He inhales as if he's sniffing the air. "Please leave."

 :::

By late afternoon Loki's day has gotten even weirder.

Not worse, thank God, but he hadn't expected to stand on a small pedestal, getting poked with needles, either.

After he'd left the store, he didn't have the heart to try another and ended up calling Sif for advice. He had briefly toyed with the idea to call Thor, but the last thing he wants is for Thor to think of him as a burden. Thor owns a whole closet of suits; Loki will be damned if he can't manage to buy a single one for himself.

Sif had given him a number, and that's how Loki ended up in front of a small but expensive looking shop that says _Flynn_ in bold, black letters on the door.

"Pleasure to meet you again," Fandral greeted him, ushering Loki inside with a smile, whirling him into a flurry of fabric samples and gibberish about cuts, lapels, and trouser pleating.

"I didn't know you're a tailor," Loki says, squirming a little when Fandral's hands venture dangerously high on his inseam.

"You couldn't tell from my fabulous looks?" Fandral asks, a smile warming his voice.

His hands are quick and sure as he works, and Loki is grateful for it; it makes this whole ordeal a lot less awkward than he feared.

"Flynn's is world-renowned for its bespoke menswear and accessories. We also offer a small collection of ready-to-wear suits, like the one you're currently wearing, but bespoke is our core business."

"I have no idea what that means," Loki admits, suddenly feeling very small. How did he think he could ever fit in Thor's world? "But it sounds expensive."

"Money your gorgeous husband, who also wears our suits, by the way, will gladly hand over once he sees you in this." He steps back, sweeping his eyes over Loki in a critical once over. "Yes, with legs like yours an English suit was an excellent decision. Maybe a little…" Fandral hums, pinching the fabric at Loki's hips, looking deep in thought.

Loki thinks the dark grey suit he picked looks fine as it is, but what does he know about menswear. Maybe tight pants are the thing to wear this season.

"I'll have to talk to Thor about at least one bespoke suit for you. Something a bit more daring," Fandral says, fussing with Loki's shoulders for what feels the hundredth time. "A deep plum maybe."

"Let's just finish this one," Loki says, a little faint. He didn't have any qualms testing the limits of his credit card when it filled an entire wardrobe with more clothes than he has owned in his whole life, but spending thousands of dollars—probably half a year of rent—on a single suit makes him deeply uncomfortable. "I don't even know if I need more than one."

"Of course you do! People keep asking about Thor's husband; he'll want you to show off as much as possible."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Loki mutters, stepping down from his pedestal when Fandral nods, declaring them finished. "All I have to do is hang onto his arm and be pretty."

"And I'll make sure that you do," Fandral says, tidying up his work table. "I'll also have a word with Thor why he sent you off on your own in the first place." He waves Loki off to the small changing room where he left his clothes. "Speaking of, have you thought about what you want to wear when you meet the in-laws?"

 :::

Loki is still panicking when he arrives at home.

_When you meet the in-laws_.

Fuck.

Completely lost in his head, he doesn't notice that the house is brightly lit until he sees Thor sitting at the table in the large kitchen, a plate of deliciously smelling food sitting in front of him.

"You're home late," Thor says as way of greeting between bites of what looks like Eir's homemade lasagna.

"I have pants. For your parents," Loki blurts out the first thing that comes to his mind, thrusting out the bag with the slacks Fandral chose for him.

Thor shoots him such an unimpressed look that it makes Loki cringe inwardly. Smooth, real smooth, Loki.

"I mean for when I meet your parents," he amends.

Thor's mouth twitches, right before he breaks out into a belly-deep laugh. He's beautiful like that, his whole face lighting up for a moment, the tired lines around his eyes smoothing out.

"I figured," he smiles, gesturing for the bag with his fork. "Flynn's isn't exactly my father's style." The smile on Thor's face widens, grows positively wicked. "But the look on your face was pure gold."

"Sorry, long day. I can't think when I'm hungry," Loki grumbles good-naturedly, fixing a plate for himself and sitting down across Thor. "You look tired, too."

"I've had a long day of meetings," Thor groans, rolling his shoulders until his bones pop with a sound that makes Loki wince in sympathy. "And more of the same tomorrow." He sighs and rises to put away his plate. "I should go and prepare for that; there's still lots to go over."

"Or you could take the evening off and relax. I bet everything is already taken care of."

Loki is suddenly anxious not to let Thor slip away again like he always does. It's frustrating. The whole man is frustrating, a walking contradiction. It would be so easy just to see the ruthless businessman, dismiss him as cold and arrogant and just sit the whole year of this marriage out. But Loki keeps seeing these glimpses of the man beneath, and he wants more of that.

"Relax," Thor deadpans.

"Yeah, you know, lounge on the couch, watch a movie," Loki huffs, scrunching up his face in annoyance. Why is everything like pulling teeth with Thor? Ok, that might be a tad unfair since Thor has been nothing but forthcoming, but only where Loki is concerned. Never about his own life. Maybe—a horrifying thought crosses his mind and then tumbles out of his mouth before he can stop himself. "You know how to do that, right?"

Thor shrugs. "In theory."

Loki waits for that laugh again, the one that says that Thor is full of shit, but it never comes.

"That's it! Go and change into something comfortable, we're watching a movie." He shoos Thor away, swallowing around the sudden lump in his throat. "Go, and then come back down."

He's not sure which one of them is more surprised when Thor nods and makes for the stairs.

How many times have Loki and Leah fantasized about being rich? Too many times to count, but maybe they were wrong all these times and being rich isn't all fun and games. Thor being so caught up in making money that he doesn't even take the time for simple pleasures like watching a movie is a depressing thought.

Loki packs away his leftovers and is rummaging in the freezer for a tub of ice cream when he hears the soft pad of footfalls in the hall.

"Go ahead already and choose a movie," Loki says, turning around. The rest gets stuck in his throat, and he almost drops the ice cream. Thor is leaning against the door jamb, and of course, he can't even do casual like the rest of mere mortals.

He's wearing light grey yoga pants and a powder blue v-neck shirt that cling to all the right places, accentuating the strength of his thighs and his wide chest. Even from across the room Loki can see how soft the fabric is, and he's itching to touch.

Thor settles on a classic, which doesn't come as a surprise. Loki is grateful for it; he's seen Bullit often enough that he can follow along even when his thoughts are drifting off to why Thor owns yoga pants in the first place.

"This is nice," Thor says halfway through the movie, scooping the last of the ice cream out of the tub. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. You work way too much."

"I told you this is a huge deal. I can't afford to lose it." Thor takes a deep breath, almost as if he's bracing himself. "My parents want to meet you."

That's enough to nip any fancies Loki had about Thor stretching and bending in those pants in the bud. He knew it was bound to happen, but it's still a terrifying thought.

"Okay," Loki says, more confident than he feels. What if Thor's parents see right through them? After all, the wedding came right after Odin's condition for his investment. How can Thor hope to pull this off? "Should we, um… I don't know, practice?"

"Practice?" Thor shoots him an amused glance, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I don't think that's necessary. Just don't flinch when I touch you. After all, we're supposed to be madly in love."

"Ha, fucking, ha."

"So, how was your day?" Thor asks, changing the subject with all the subtlety of a brick wall. "Sif told me you called about a suit."

"Yeah, she gave me Fandral's number. Tell her she's a real queen."

Loki sucks in a harsh breath, unsure whether he should tell Thor about the whole shopping fiasco, but before he can consciously decide on it, the words come spilling out of him.

"Shopping isn't as much fun as I thought it would be. Nobody wanted to sell me a suit." He chokes out a bitter laugh. "God forbid a beta stain their precious, fancy clothes just by looking at them." Loki is so tired. Tired of this day, tired of all this bullshit. "I'm not worthless just because I can't father or bear children. Good thing they can only smell that I'm a beta and not that I'm gay. The only thing worse than a beta is a gay beta, right?"

Fuck. Loki thought he was over this, over Laufey telling him the very same thing again and again until he believed it. It took Loki years to unlearn the damage his father had caused. Today he's proud of the man he is, but the rush of humiliation to be reduced to a biological role with a set of useless reproductive organs never goes away.

"The only thing that's wrong here is people clinging to prejudices we should have overcome decades ago."

Thor wraps an arm around Loki's shoulder and pulls him closer. It feels so good Loki can hardly breathe. He falls asleep like that, safe and warm, his head pillowed on a strong shoulder, enveloped by Thor's familiar scent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come and say hi on [Tumblr](http://ohfreckle.tumblr.com/) or [twitter.](https://twitter.com/ohfreckle)


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